Kaine: A Men Of Gotham Novel (The Men Of Gotham Book 1)

by Daisy Allen

  “Nooooooooooooo, bed and I are no longer getting along. I think we’ve spent too much time together and now we need some space. He got custody of the bedroom, so I’m moving out.” I sit down at the table and grab a banana from the fruit plate.

  “Let me...” Harriet starts.

  “Let you what? Peel my banana for me?” I laugh, smiling at her gratefully. “I think that that’s one step away from choo-choo train feeding me, and I’m, like, 22 years too old and 80 years too young for that.”

  Harriet balls up her tissue and throws it. It hits me on the forehead and I feign pain, “Owwwww... it hurts... I need help. Peel my banana for meeeeeeeee.”

  “Oh hush. I was just trying to help,” she pouts.

  “Oh really, with that kind of heinous violence?” I say, pointing at the crumpled tissue on the floor. I look back up at her and smile. “I’m okay. I really am. My headache’s completely gone and the stitches in my back itch more than anything right now. Only thing left is this bitchin’ black eye, but I thought I’d keep it, scare people and young children away in the ice cream line, you know?” I wink at her with my good eye.

  She shrugs and goes back to her sandwich, “Fine. But, if you’re sick of bed, just sit on the couch and watch some TV or something, okay? It wouldn’t hurt you to rest for a few more days.”

  “I was going to go back to work with you tomorrow.” I admit.

  “Yeah. Definitely not. Next topic of conversation?”

  “Why not? I’m BORED and anyway, I need the job, I’m dreading that hospital bill. Dealing with insurance is a bitch.”

  “Honey, the way Harold feels, you’re going to be there after we’re all dead and dust. You’ll have a job there for life.”

  “How does Harold feel?” I hadn’t really had a chance to talk to him since the incident, just a quick call once we got back to Harriet’s house to let him know I was okay.

  “He still feels SO guilty. He thinks it’s his fault because he made you stay late for the delivery.”

  “Awww, it’s not his fault, it could’ve happened to anyone at any time. Does he not remember where we live? Giuliani only cleaned it up so much.”

  “You try telling him! Not to mention, those manuscripts have gone missing,” Harriet makes a sad face.

  “Yeah, damn. I was so looking forward to going through those as well...you know, when I go back to work tomorrow.”

  “Nice try.”

  “Fine, I’ll stay home, and you know, climb up on this chair here and dust the tops of your cabinets... then I might go out on the fire escape and clean your windows before...”

  “Okay, okay! We’ll see how you feel when you wake up tomorrow. Something tells me, you’re going to be just fine!”

  I grin at her, “Yay! I win. Hey, hand me my phone, will you? I’ve got to call the hospital make sure they have my insurance details.”

  ***

  “You are NOT going to believe this,” I yell through the bedroom wall to Harriet on the other side.

  “What?” She yells back.

  “HE paid for it.”

  “He who paid for what it?”

  “HE, my guardian angel! He paid for my hospital bill!”

  “WHAT?!!?” I hear a thump and an ‘ow’ then she comes running into my room. “He did what?” she repeats climbing into bed next to me.

  “Well, I called the hospital and they told me that there was no record of me with an outstanding balance. So, I told them that couldn’t be right, so they said they’d look into it and they just called me back and said, this afternoon, some guy called Xavier came in on behalf of Mr. K and paid the bill in full... and get this... in CASH.”

  “Whoaaaaa,” Harriet says, mirroring my own reaction.

  “Yeah. See? Curiouser and curiouser!”

  “Dude. You’ve got to find him!”

  “It doesn’t sound like he wants to be found.”

  “You’re a genealogist. It’s your job to find DEAD people!”

  “But...”

  “He saved your life, Jade.”

  I make a face at her. Truth is, I can’t get my mind off him, not just because he saved me and I want to thank him from the bottom of my heart, but something about him keeps permeating my dreams.

  I need a face to go with the voice that comforted me in my worst moment.

  ***

  The next morning, sitting at my office desk, I note down every detail I can remember about him. It isn’t much.

  Tall, about 6”2, strong, muscle-y build (he carried me for lord knows how many blocks), deep voice. Ruby isn’t much help, all she can add is, “always wore a damned hoodie, you’d have thought he was the thug.” She also said she never even really saw his eyes.

  Isn’t that weird? We don’t even know his eye color. He really is a mystery man.

  I think about posting something on my Facebook, I imagine it will sound something like, “Looking for tall guy wearing a hoody who was in the lower west side around 8 p.m. last Monday.” It is about as vague and lame as a desperate personals ad.

  “Help meeee,” I beg Harriet, who is still unhappy that she lost the coin toss that won me a ride to work.

  “I know less about him than you do!” she huffs.

  “Well, at least tell me where to start looking.”

  “You’re sitting in one of the biggest genealogy departments IN THE WORLD.”

  “But, I have NO idea where to start looking. At least dead people have birthdates or third cousins or something to go on.”

  “Have you tried searching for ‘hoodie addicts anonymous?’” She guffaws at her own joke.

  “Ha ha... but I’m getting about that desperate, yes.” I sigh as I lay my head down on the desk. I am getting a bit tired, not that I want to admit it to Harriet, and my injuries are starting to ache.

  The phone rings, interrupting my begging, and I welcome the distraction. “Hello, Jade Sinclair speaking.”

  “Ms. Sinclair, it’s Kerri Anne from Channel 17 news, how are you?”

  “Um... I’m okay.” I answer warily.

  “Oh, wonderful. We’re just calling because we were wondering if we could do a short interview with you about your attack.”

  “How do you..?”

  “We’ve been doing a series of shows on personal security and safety, and we’d love to have you on to tell your story, alert women to the dangers on the streets. We’ve had a few other mugging victims on in the last few days, and now that you’re back on your feet, if you could come in to talk to us for about a 10 minute segment, it would really help our campaign.”

  “Uh...” Well, this is out of nowhere. “Um, what kind of things would I have to talk about? I’m kinda shy.” I hear Harriet snicker behind me.

  “Oh, don’t worry about a thing, our hosts will make you feel comfortable and you’d just have to answer a few questions: what happened, how did you feel, how have you dealt with the attack since, talk about how you survived, for example. The reason we want real victims on, is because you’re more relatable than some hulky defence instructor coming on and yelling at our viewers to be prepared.”

  “Oh. Um... okay.” I don’t really know if I am ready, but it sounds like a good reason to talk about it.

  “So, yeah, oh! And you can talk about the guy who saved you, people love a good hero story.”

  And in that moment, I know how I am going to find him.

  ***

  Chapter Six

  HIM

  I am wrong. Extreme fatigue does NOT bring on sleep. It just makes you bone tired and cranky. I climb out of bed for thesixth morning in a row, awake before the alarm, more tired than the day before. This hasn’t happened for a while, but it’s not entirely new. Sleep is the first of my essentials to go out the window when my mind is preoccupied by something I can’t solve. And this week, I have any number of problems for my mind to take its pick from to obsess over.

  The head of departments’ meeting turned up a complete bust. No one has any concrete clue who
‘J’ is, what he wants (other than the obvious, to ruin our company/money), and why he has started this vendetta. And that’s what it is. This isn’t a cold, calculated business strategy. He wants this to hurt me personally.

  Contemplating the day ahead, I decide it won’t hurt to start early. It’s 5:32 a.m. to be precise, my clock tells me. Even I’m not heartless enough to wake Henry, my driver, this early. Turning on the light as I enter my dressing room, I pull the switch to rotate my wardrobe to my track pants and sweaters. I quickly dress in a matching charcoal grey pants and hoodie set, tie the laces of my new shoes, and leave the apartment.

  Nodding to the doorman on my way out, I realize that it’s still dark out, the city is waking, yawning and stretching into the new day, the sidewalks still carryings the dirty evidence of last night’s charades, and the streets are scattered with the wandering homeless and those hiding from their homes. I start my jog at a brisk pace, my warm breath already exhaling little white clouds of steam against the dark sky. It shouldn’t take more than about 20 minutes to get to the office, I calculate, just enough time for me to organize my thoughts for the day.

  I glance at my Rolex as I turn the corner the block before my building. 6:00 a.m. on the dot, just as I’d predicted. The time flew by as I focused on work, hardly noticing my body dripping with sweat, my lungs begging for air. Despite the fatigue, old and new, I can’t help but smile when I see my building. It may be the home of my business, but it has been built from the very first brick up, by my blood, sweat, and yes, even though I hate to admit it, tears. And there are times I’ve spent more time here than my actual home.

  Now into its fourth year as a part of the Manhattan skyline, I can’t imagine this magnificent city being without it. Sleek and modern, it juts up into the sky like an almost invisible glass portal into another world, mirrored glass from top to bottom, reflecting the sky and city back on itself, a perfect, seamless melting into its surroundings. The three letters ASH stand one story tall on the 50th floor in an understated muted grey.

  I paid a premium for the most technologically advanced materials and design for my building. Completely energy self-sufficient, with solar cells built into every available surface and structure of the outer windows and walls, and the glass insulated against the elements, creating a harmonious temperature, requiring only the most minimal of air-conditioning for comfort. The rooftop is home to the company helipad, a garden for employees’ lunch and a 1000 square foot community garden for the nearby schools and youth centres.

  The building is everything I want Ash industries to exude; modesty, strength, integrity, and a constructive contribution to society.

  She is my pride and joy.

  I pull my hoodie tight over my head, adjusting it, as I usually do to cover my face as I approach the building.

  “Mr. Ashley, what are you doing here so early?” the security guard asks from the other side of the door as I slide my card through the slot and press my finger against the pad.

  “Good morning, Carlos. If only I knew.” I throw up my hands as he chuckles before giving me a small finger salute and returning back to his station.

  I walk to my personal elevator and turn the key, waiting for the doors to open. It might be early, but it’s actually my favorite time to arrive. It’s almost completely empty except for the skeleton security and cleaning staff. I can make my way to my company’s floors and offices without too much scrutiny. The elevator door opens and I step in, taking this opportunity to glance over the floors and offices through the glass as I ascend to the gym floor.

  The gym is empty when I arrive, but I know that soon it will be teeming with Ash Industries employees getting in a workout before the start of their day. Every one of Ash Industries’ employees has full access to the gym and I encourage them to use it. It’s fully equipped with all the best equipment, sauna and steam rooms, and each employee is allotted a monthly allowance of 60 minutes with the house masseuses.

  I’d decided during my run to take advantage of the empty gym to use one of the weight machines. I find the remote at the trainer’s station and turn on the TV system. The 16 screens mounted around the gym come to life and I select the saved setting for a different channel for each one.

  Taking a swig from my water bottle, I settle next to the bench press and start my reps, zoning out the chatter as white noise.

  “One, two, three...” I count as I exhale with deliberation, focusing on my breath and bicep muscle fibres firing to lift the heavier-than-normal weights. The last few days I’ve had to work harder than usual to focus. All my thoughts keep turning to her.

  I haven’t heard anything about her since running into Ruby at the hospital two days ago. Xavier reported that he had taken care of her hospital bill, and there’s really no reason to think about or care about her any more. But I do. It isn’t a specific thought, but there she is all the time. Replaying the sound of her scream when I ran across her and her attackers. Wondering what would’ve happened if I hadn’t been there. No use dwelling on it, I remind myself and concentrate on my exercises again. “...9, 10.” I let go of the bar gently, setting the weights down without too much noise. Wiping my face with my towel, my body suddenly freezes, a split second even before I realize it has.

  “...and thankfully, I’m fine now. But the real lesson here, I think, is that everyone should always be as alert as possible, and travel together at night if you can.”

  That voice.

  No, it can’t be.

  I know that voice.

  It’s haunted me for the last week.

  I pull the towel from my face and let my hoodie fall away.

  It is her. On TV.

  Looking as fucking beautiful as I remember her.

  What is she doing on the Channel 7 morning show?

  “Well, that’s about all we have time for, but is there one last message you’d like to say to our viewers, about your attack? Or some word of advice?” the host asks her.

  I’m transfixed on the screen, holding my breath as the camera zooms close up on her face. Her cheek is still bruised, but it is fading into the yellow-green hue of the final healing stages. But I barely notice it. All I see are her plump cherry red lips and her creamy porcelain skin. Her eyes are bright and alive as she prepares to speak, a look that lights a spark inside me that I didn’t realize has lain dormant for as long as I can remember.

  “Well, there is ONE thing I was hoping your viewers could help me with.” She speaks in her silky sweet voice.

  “Anything!” The hosts look excited, they seem to be prepared for what she is going to say. I can’t imagine what it is going to be, but I don’t care. I just want to hear her speak again.

  “Well, as you know, I probably would NOT be sitting here today, if it weren’t for the man who risked his own life to save me.”

  Oh, no.

  I bite my lip, hoping I am wrong about what I predict is about to happen.

  “Well, as you can imagine, I would dearly love to thank him for saving me from my attackers, making sure I was taken to the hospital and taken care of, as well as... this you probably don’t know from the news stories, but he also paid for my hospital stay and treatment. 100%”

  The female host looks about ready to leap out of her chair in suspense. I feel like I’m about to throw up. “Wow, he’s a real hero! You couldn’t get him to come today? We’d love to interview him, he sounds like a man who knows how to defend himself... and his loved ones.” The words make me swallow hard.

  “That’s just it,” Jade slides to the edge of her seat, her hand waving in the air, her voice bright and cheerful – so different to the soft whimpers I heard from her that first day I met her. No, this is how she should sound, this is a woman who is filled with life. “I don’t know who he is!”

  “NO! You don’t? How can that be?” The host plays the devil’s advocate, and I want to strangle her.

  “He was wearing a grey hoodie when I first saw him before I fainted, and the nurses and docto
rs at the hospital told me that he wore the hoodie hiding his face the entire time he was there. And no one knows his real name, we just know him as ‘Mr. K.’”

  “Fuck.” I say to the empty room.

  “And now all I want to do is to be able to thank him. Thank him for saving my life.”

  She turns to face the camera right on. It focuses unmoving on her doll-like features. Her eyes widen and her face opens like a blossom.

  “Please. If anyone out there has any information on who this hooded hero is that saved me, please get in touch with me. Please. If you were in my position, you’d want to be able to thank your guardian angel as well. And that’s what he is. People like this need to be acknowledged and recognized as heroes. Please help me find him.”

  Her mouth trembles a bit, and her eyes sparkle with tears threatening to spill out onto her bone china white cheeks.

  She is good. I am almost inclined to give her information to find me myself.

  “Ugh,” my head falls into my hands. It’s the first time I’ve torn my eyes from the screen. This is not good. This is going to fuck with the perfect harmony I prefer my life to exist in.

  I force myself to lift my eyes back to the screen and watch the rest of the interview.

  “...so you’ve got all the information that Jade has on her hooded hero. Come on, New York! Let’s reunite this lovely woman with her savior. You can contact us on...”

  The hosts jarring voice fades into the background as I watch Jade wave and smile at the camera.

  “What’ve you done now, Kaine?” I groan and grab my towel and retreat to the showers, bracing for what the day is going to bring. As if I don’t already have enough to deal with.

  The phone rings as I strip my body of my clothes and prepare to step under the steaming hot water.

  “What?” I answer, my voice accurately displaying the gruffness of my mood.

  “Oh. So, you’ve heard,” Xavier’s voice echoes in the shower chamber, the phone on speaker.

  “About what? The citywide search for a guy in a hoodie fitting my exact description?”

  He is quiet. I know he’s grinning.